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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111844">the serpent</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/allechant/pseuds/allechant'>allechant</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>adversary of god [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Shall We Date?: Obey Me!</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Character Study, Gen</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-05-10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-03 01:14:24</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,552</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/24111844</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/allechant/pseuds/allechant</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>because falling into sin can be even easier than falling asleep.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Satan (Shall We Date?: Obey Me!) &amp; Reader</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series:</b></td><td>adversary of god [2]</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Series URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/series/1739809</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>2</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>65</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the serpent</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Wrath is a terribly beautiful thing.</p><p>It’s heat. It’s the redness that covers your eyes like a veil, leaving you grasping for words, for air, for <em>something</em> to prove that you’re not stranded alone in this cage of thorns. It’s the blood that runs down your skin when you reach past barbed wire and hear the laughter of a lover holding the hand of another, one who <em>isn’t you</em>.</p><p>Rage is a crescendo that builds and builds like the most terrible of arias, culminating in a scream that echoes off the broken walls of a derelict building. It caresses you with the demanding whispers of a spoilt child, one you try so hard to hide deep within your consciousness, one who surfaces when they see things that don’t belong to them – you give in and when your eyes open you’re bleeding out on the floor.</p><p>It makes you powerful. In wrath you find your voice, a reason to struggle, to shriek at the heavens and demand a chance to <em>live</em>, because you were not <em>born</em> to go quietly into the darkness. You search for and destroy all evidence of being someone other than who you want to be. Photos and portraits are nothing but lies, lies, <em>lies </em>– your eyes are bloodshot. You no longer recognise your reflection in the mirror.</p><p>Anger makes you turn away from those you once considered friends. You hold onto lies and mistruths with the desperation of a drowning man clutching at straws and all you find when you break free is a knife plunged into your back. You feel no pain.</p><p>A beautiful presence lingers in the back of your mind, hiding in the shadows. It is both stranger and friend, familiar yet not. The eyes of a snake stare out at you from the darkness, and you find yourself thinking perhaps this was why Eve ate the apple because the darkness could be so wonderfully tempting and sometimes it feels so much easier to just <em>let go</em>, to let yourself fall onto velvet gloves the colour of rust.</p><p>Once in a while, you break out of your cage of delusions and you see yourself for who you really are, locked alone in a rundown apartment with no one for company but empty bottles and broken mirrors, shards of glass reflecting the remnants of someone who once had everything in the world. And you wonder, is this what you want?</p><p>But then the anger breathes into you, its breath warm against your neck and you give in because you’ve never had a better lover than the white-hot heat that chokes your throat and threatens to pluck out your eyes.</p><p>Sometimes wrath is cold. It chills you to the bone and makes you dream of running a knife down their necks, weeping trails that drip red blossoms onto the white snow.</p><p>Rage becomes something to sink into. It pulls you into the depths of its frozen embrace, a placid pool that churns deep beneath the surface. It drowns you and you feel your lungs freezing as you scrabble for air. It’s the feeling of sharp teeth closing around your throat. Your bones break and you’re hurting and suddenly everything is hot and cold and you’re <em>tired</em>, but the rage says to you <em>carry on</em>.</p><p>A beautiful man visits you at night. You can’t remember the last time anyone came to you. You can’t remember anything other than your name. He whispers to you and he has the voice of an angel. <em>You’re doing so well.</em> He fades away like the shadows running from the light of the morning sun and your hand reaches weakly for someone who wasn’t there – your throat has gone hoarse from the screaming and all you can manage is a groan. The man’s green eyes burn you like a brand.</p><p>Once upon a time you had a life and a family but then things changed and now you only have yourself for company, you and the shadows and the brokenness that does nothing but remind you of how much everything has changed. How the anger has opened your eyes. You don't need people. You just have to cradle this broken emotion in what is left of your heart, nursing it, holding it. One day you would birth something that could take the place of everything you ever wanted.</p><p><em>It’s what on the inside that counts</em>. At least that’s what you were always told, ever since you were a child and time after time you were turned down in favour of those who were better-looking, smarter, richer – everything you were not. <em>Inferior being</em>, you saw that in the gazes of those who mocked you, and the beautiful man who only seemed to appear to you laughed and caressed your face with his hands.</p><p><em>Is there anything more beautiful than what you are now?</em> You were helpless against him, this man who seemed to know perfectly how to embrace the shrivelled remains of your heart – this angel with hair of spun gold and eyes like emeralds, eyes like the snake that was always watching you from the darkness. <em>You know what to do</em>. And you knew indeed, you always knew. You were just too afraid, too much of a coward to make a move.</p><p>Wrath seemed to break free of all barriers. It overcame your fears, made you feel like for a moment you were invincible, as though the world would bow at your feet. And you thought that this was what they deserved, these people who did nothing but <em>mock</em> you, the people who <em>betrayed</em> you, who turned away from the desperate pleas for help – you were weak for too long but now you had a purpose.</p><p>His murmurs stoked your passions. He cradled your head in his gentle hands, but you never knew his name, never questioned once how he could visit you – he was a messiah, a saviour, someone who reached into the murk and dragged you out. He forged you and remade you, blessed you with knowledge of the truth of the world.</p><p>Sometimes rage was calm. Two ends of a spectrum, pushing and pulling, finding a way to coexist in a world that refused dichotomies – you straddled the balance, painted a smile on your lips as you went about daily life, listening to conversations that you played no part in. He was constantly by your side, unseen to everyone but yourself, and you felt his hands steering you, guiding you on the path to enlightenment.</p><p>Once in a while, someone would show up at your house, asking for favours. You let them in without much thought, the smile on your face never betraying the hatred that surfaced, the bile that rose to your throat at the mere <em>sight</em> of those who lusted for your newfound fortunes. But you knew they would come, like flies drawn to honey, and you waited for them, baited them with sweet promises of more, more, <em>more</em>.</p><p>You were someone with nothing living in a house made of cards. But as the maggots continued to climb out of festering skulls and corpses you began to delicately pick apart the foundations of your existence, testing new ways to <em>live</em>.</p><p>One by one they fell, and soon you found yourself whispering about how revenge was a dish best served <em>cold</em> and how you had waited so long, so <em>long</em>, channelling all this rage into something that people trusted, so people would let down their guards around you, the one with such a kind, innocent smile on their face.</p><p>You never thought to betray them. You were always honest, even from the very beginning. It wasn’t your fault that they couldn’t see the rage that hid behind your smile. It wasn’t your fault that they couldn’t separate the truth from the lies.</p><p>Soon the pile turned into a heap turned into a hill and you were running out of space and every so often the police would knock on your door. It was getting tiring and you were <em>exhausted</em> from always wearing that genial smile on your face, because it wasn’t as easy as it looked, and you wished you could be as good at it as <em>he</em> was. The police always left after a while.</p><p>But at the same time, you looked forward to their visits because whenever they left, <em>he</em> would come, the one who had carved into you the perfect existence. Wrath was beautiful and no one knew it better than you. He left you speechless; tears sprung to your eyes and you were surprised to feel warmth trickling down your face.</p><p>It had been so long since you were last warm. He laughed at the sight of the wet trails on your cheeks and when he touched your jaw you felt heat surge through you, the all-too-familiar numbing <em>white-hot</em> that made everything go away, that made you scream your lungs out in a catharsis like no other.</p><p><em>Who am I?</em> He asked this question with his hand lingering on your skin and you didn’t have to think for even a second before the answer came to your lips.</p><p><em>Satan</em>. His smile was a lovely thing. You allow yourself to fall back into his cage of thorns and thought that now you finally have somewhere you belong.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>let's not forget that they're demons who probably do tempt people to sin</p><p>yell at me on <a href="https://mobile.twitter.com/dontenchantme">twitter</a></p></blockquote></div></div>
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